Resurgence of Sorcery
by Tellemicus Sundance
Summary: Some wizards believe magic is semi-sentient and spawns balance-restorers. Sometimes they're villains. Sometimes heroes. ALWAYS troublesome. The dark organization called the Cabal believe this and try to usurp it constantly. But balance can't be stopped. The world will be ruptured, torn asunder, and will never be the same again. The Old Ways will return. Someone must oppose it.
1. A Film called Star Wars

**( Tellemicus's Note) This is a major rewrite of **_**The Lightsaber**_ **. We am taking what ideas worked in the original story while combining them into a new story that'll have a completely different plot. This means that while a lot may seem familiar, don't be surprised when something suddenly changes.**

 **If you don't like what we're doing here, stop reading. Or, better yet, _I CHALLENGE YOU TO WRITE YOUR OWN VERSION!_ Show me you can do _better_! _  
_**

 **Resurgence of Sorcery  
** By: Tellemicus Sundance  
Co-Authored by: Fiori75  
 _#01 – A Film called Star Wars_

 **June 23, 1994  
Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey**

"— _luminous beings_ are we! Not this _crude matter!_ " Yoda explained to the exhausted and forlorn Luke. "You must _feel_ the Force around you. Between you, me, the trees, the rocks, _everywhere!_ Even between the land and the ship."

Harry's expression was every bit as thoughtful as the one on Luke's face as he watched the old film play on Dudley's new telly. It was early in the day and it was already proving to be one of the best of the summer already in Harry's opinion. For today, he had the house all to himself. This was a very rare occurrence that had happened due to several factors lining themselves up _just right_ for Harry.

The first being that it was his dearly beloved cousin's birthday and his relatives had decided to spend the day in London, doing all manner of activities that Dudley deemed fun, accompanied by his gang of friends. And this directly led into the second reason of why Harry was left at home. Neither Dudley, his parents, nor his friends had wanted Harry around on this special day for their very special boy. However, because of a lie the Dursleys themselves had created and spread around several years ago, none of the neighbors were willing to look after a boy who was apparently attending the 'St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys'. Harry had found it indelibly ironic how that lie came back to bite them in the arse now. And the final nail in the coffin was that Harry's usual babysitter, Ms. Figg, had suddenly come down with a bad illness just a few days prior. So, with strict warnings to not break anything, cause any kind of 'freakish things' to happen, to not set foot outside or be seen through the windows by the various neighbors, and to not touch even a pinch of food, Harry was allowed to stay behind.

Only minutes after the car had pulled away from the driveway and disappeared around the corner, Harry had immediately gone upstairs and started rifling through his cousin's things. It wasn't because he wanted to steal anything. It wasn't that he was looking for anything in particular. Or even because he wanted just a tiny bit of vengeance for all the times that Dudley had barged in on him for any number of reasons while they were younger. No, the reason that Harry had gone into his cousin's room was because he had always had a lot of interesting toys and knickknacks which were old birthday presents that were left discarded, unused, and forgotten. Once, that giant pile of 'trash' had been stored in what was now Harry's bedroom. But with Harry's relocation and the cupboard beneath the stairs being too small, Dudley had been forced to either throw away a lot of that stuff or move it into his own room. And while Dudley had childishly tried to hold onto as much as he could _because it was_ _ **his**_ , in the end he had been forced to sort through it and only keep what actually struck his fancy. Normally, Harry would have gone digging through his own school things, work on his summer assignments, and review old material, but such things just hadn't had much appeal to him today. Plus, he'd finished his summer assignments just a few days after he'd left Hogwarts anyway.

As he'd sorted through the different comics and browsed the large bookcase that was overflowing with video cassettes instead of books, one particular film trilogy had caught his eye. He'd heard of it at primary school growing up, it was impossible to not have given how popular it was. Still, he had never been allowed to watch it since (as he now guessed) his aunt and uncle had feared that the sight of 'space magic' might give him some _ideas_ about his own freakishness.

"I would love to have been a Jedi," Harry said quietly to his dear owl friend, Hedwig, who had been nestled comfortably on his shoulder for the duration of the two films thus far. "Being able to travel, help people, use magic without a wand, fight bad guys with _laser swords!_ How fun and exciting it must be!"

He watched in horrified fascination as the truth of Luke's past and heritage was revealed to him. The battle between the fallen father and the young son had been so incredible, it really showed just how incredibly strong and talented Luke was in the Force to have been able to almost match his dark nemesis after so little training. But Harry had been horrified at how Vader had cut off the hand of his own son in a fit of rage before finally calming down. Harry had been far from surprised when Luke rejected Vader's proposal of joining forces with him to finish his Force training, kill the Emperor, and rule the galaxy. Honestly, Harry would've most assuredly done the same thing. Maybe not dropping himself down a chasm as Luke did to escape Vader, but he'd still have tried to escape in some manner.

Ejecting the cassette after it finished playing, Harry quickly switched it with the final episode of the trilogy. As the tape started rewinding to the beginning, he sat back against the side of Dudley's bed as he started thinking and daydreaming. He saw visions of himself standing tall atop his own spaceship as his friends inside it flew it slowly through the air, the winds sending his dark clothes and cloak billowing, with him wielding a blue lightsaber in one hand as he prepared to jump aboard a nearby flying battleship. It was a grand image that stuck strongly in his mind, putting a wide and yearning smile on his face.

' _I wish I could be like that in real life_.' As that thought passed through his head, a seed had been planted. He knew it, he could feel it. He wasn't sure what it was, only that it was important. It was as he was watching the scene of Luke standing over the Sarlacc Pit, about to be executed by Jabba the Hutt, and Artoo launching a lightsaber into the air towards him that the seed started to grow. But it was with the ignition of Luke's new green lightsaber and of him deflecting blaster bolts with it in the ensuing fight that caused the sprouting seed to suddenly bloom into all its glory.

"I could make a lightsaber!" he gasped out, jerking forward slightly as his eyes widened in excited realization. He was no longer truly paying as much attention to the film anymore, his mind racing faster than his Firebolt at the possibilities, needed magical requirements, and the technicalities of how he could build it.

Stopping only long enough to shut down the VCR and telly, Harry was fast to vacate Dudley's room and rush to his own, Hedwig hooting indignantly as she struggled to maintain her perch on his shoulder. Once he was back in his room, she was quick to leap off and make her way back into her open cage. Not that Harry noticed as he was already digging through his school trunk, pulling out his spellbooks, a notebook, and several pens.

He had some research to do.

* * *

 **Little Hangleton, Albania**

"No…" a cloaked man uttered in horror. He stood in the threshold of an old house, gazing around at its interior. Despite the dark hood that threw his face into shadow, the horror and anguish that the man was feeling was plainly evident in his body posture as he stepped weakly inside, the door closing behind him as if by magic. "My Lord, no… It can't be…"

He was kneeling upon the broken and rotted floorboards of a decrepit old family home. The house had been abandoned for years after its previous residents had mysteriously died. Since then, it had stood dormant and foreboding, the nearby families and town residents had quickly started whispering that it was haunted or cursed. It just gave off a vibe that resonated darkness and pure evil that made even the most foolhardy and ignorant among them reluctant to ever dare trespassing upon its land.

What the fools didn't realize was that they were completely correct. The land and house really _were_ cursed. Cursed to any and all who did not possess magic, specifically dark magic, within them and would have them suffer unbearable pain, poor fortunes, and/or a grisly death for trespassing, depending on how 'deeply' that intrusion was made. The protections of these curses upon the house and the fear they helped to instill on the populace is exactly what the house's true owner had wanted. He had wanted to turn the house into an untouchable landmark to commemorate his origins. Origins that he had done his damnedest to keep secret from his underlings, even killing them if they knew or suspected the truth.

And while the exterior of the house had been left to the whims of nature, which were overgrown and decaying, the interior had once been as pristine and glamorous as even the greatest of manors from the richest of the Purebloods. But now…now, it was just a hollowed, rotting corpse of its former self. The interior had clearly been looted not long after the Dark Lord's fall since all the priceless magical artifacts, donated heirlooms, and extravagant furnishings had disappeared. The floors were rotting, the walls moldy and peeling, the ceilings sagging and even starting to split in places, and all the windows were filthy and broken.

Moving into the dining hall, the man saw that there was only one item within that hadn't been stolen. It was, perhaps understandably, the Dark Lord's personal chair that had once stood at the head of the long table. Although, 'chair' was a bit misleading since it was more comparable to the word 'throne' than anything else. Seeing his lord's chair, the only item to stand the test of time, standing as proud and tall as it did before that fateful day thirteen years ago, the cloaked wizard felt himself overcome by a potent sense of hopelessness and collapsed limply to his knees just a few paces away from it.

But to the Dark Lord's underlings, all they knew about this house was that it was their Lord's most favored safehouse during the early days of their reign of conquest and terror. As such, if ever there was a chance that his lord had survived, this would've been the first, last, and only place he'd have gone to for healing, rest, and recuperation. And no matter what the state he might've taken after his fall from power, his Lord would _**never**_ have allowed his home to have fallen into such shambles. So, to see this once majestic and great house reduced to _this_ … The horrible rumors that the Wizarding Community had been spreading for more than a decade suddenly seemed so much more…truthful than he'd wanted to believe.

The great and terrible Dark Lord Voldemort, his mentor and leader, a man among men, the greatest wizard since Grindelwald or even Merlin, was dead. He was really and truly gone. The current state of his headquarters left no room for doubt in the man's mind.

His dear lord was, truly, dead.

The hope he'd clung to for the past decade. The long and mind-wrenching struggle he'd endured and only recently overcome. The faith that his Dark Lord could never have been beaten by a mere toddler, and a filthy Halfblood at that! All of it had been for naught. He could see it now. Everything they'd worked for, struggled to build, the careful plotting to cleanse their world, and having certain victory nearly within their grasp despite the futile resistance of Dumbledore and his 'Order'. All of it had come crashing down because of one ignorant child!

"No…" he uttered, his voice little more than a growl as a deep frown and a furious flash of raw rage set the man's eyes slightly aglow. "It shall not end! It won't! I will not allow it to!"

Rising to his feet, a new determination and sense of purpose filled the man as he gazed upon the throne. "I swear to you, my lord. You may be…gone, but I _**won't**_ let them win. I swear to you, I _will_ _**finish**_ …what you _started_."

He bowed lowly to the throne, as though his Lord were actually seated upon it. After he stood back up, he turned and silently departed from the household, his mind awhirl as he started to plot how he would achieve his lord's dream.

* * *

 **July 6, 1994  
The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley**

"Okay," Harry said quietly, speaking more to himself than the self-writing quill that was floating over a large, blank textbook behind him. "Project Hilt: Model 3.3.1 now beginning." Using his wand, he floated a specially designed and crafted metal hilt into the air in front of him. "I am now using all six unicorn hairs from the previous two attempts bounded together as the Hilt Core. The previous two attempts have caused inconsistent results, which I am starting to believe is due to the lack of concentrated power. My hope is that by weaving the hairs together, the magical power will be more dense and focused. Which should also help to reduce the…damages that most of the earlier experiments caused upon activation."

As he was speaking, a line of faintly glowing horse hairs floated up to the hilt. With a casual flick of his wand, the top portion of the hilt detached itself to reveal a hollow opening inside the hilt. Floating down inside the hilt with an air of absolute precision, the bound hairs tucked themselves into the length of the hilt. Once inside, a series of wooden supports inside the hilt gently slid out of their ready positions and took firm holds of the hair, securing the bundle tightly in place. Following this, the top portion of the hilt rapidly returned and screwed itself back into place.

"Activation of Model 3.3.1 shall begin in 3…2…1… Now." At that signal, a small button he'd installed on the hilt was depressed. This button caused a small system of levers inside the hilt to raise a pinch of fairy dust upwards and bring it into contact with the unicorn hairs. The dust and hairs were both highly reactive to one another, causing a burst of raw magic to ignite inside the hilt. This raw magic was then focused down a series of crudely-made but functional inlaid runes to gather up into the emitter at the top of the hilt. From there, the magic was projected upwards and outwards, blasting up into the air in a concentrated stream of pure light that rapidly shifted and shined in all colors of the rainbow.

"Model 3.3.1 is yet another failure," Harry stated with absolute disappointment in his voice as he gazed up at the ceiling. Flicking his wrist, the ignition button was released and the magic laser beam instantly died. As it did, it revealed a small, perfectly cut circle that had been burned into the ceiling, through the roof, and had likely shot high up into the sky.

"I wonder if this experiment accidentally clipped any satellites in orbit this time?" Harry wondered aloud as the hilt dropped limply to the floor. Shaking his head, he continued speaking his thoughts as the quill continued rapidly writing and sketching everything. "While Model 3.3.1 is another failure, it has shown a marked improvement from all previous experiments. My hope on weaving the unicorn hairs to help concentrate the power seems to have been correct. Rather than sending a spray of laser bolts in every direction upon ignition, which would be far more helpful if I could _aim_ the blasted things, the concentrated power was focused into a single beam. However, any and all attempts to shorten the beam into an actual manageable blade continue to fail. I…I am beginning to think that I need…that I need to ask for help from others."

And wasn't _that_ a bitter pill to swallow, since he wanted to make this weapon all on his own. Not that he wouldn't ask for help if he had to, the mere existence of his lightsaber trumped all. However, that didn't mean that he didn't want to do something on his own. Something that was solely his and his alone.

It had already been several weeks since the mad idea of building his own lightsaber had taken hold of him. And Harry's enthusiasm had actually begun to wane as he'd reached the Model 3 series. Sure, the Series 1 and 2 had both had their hiccups, but each failure had taught him something new. The 2's had even shown that he was roughly on the right track. However, the 3 series, while providing him a measure of what he wanted, was absolutely failing to stabilize. The continued attempts at which were actually starting to dampen his spirit worse than his initial speed bump before he'd actually been able to dive right in.

Unlike what he really wanted to do, Harry didn't jump straight into the creation process of building the lightsaber from scratch. Instead, he'd first had to sneak away from Privet Drive and visited the book store in Diagon Alley. Though that part was more perilous than tedious as the Knight Bus made travel… _interesting_. There he had partaken in the dread task that would have had Ron gasping in horror and Hermione cheering in delight. Harry had to research and read, with no one to prompt him to do so.

He'd combed Florish & Blott's, searching for any legends in the wizarding world that might've pertained to 'swords of light' or any such equivalents to lightsabers, to see if wizards have done such a thing before. He found plenty of references about enchanted blades, swords made of magical metals or through magical means, and even some swords that could shoot various types of magic or spells, but nothing quite like what he wanted. Lightsabers didn't exist, at all.

Once he was sure that he was indeed venturing into uncharted territory, Harry began his shopping spree through the Alley before renting a room in The Leaky Cauldron to be his laboratory. He rented the room because he realized that this was a nifty little loophole in the underage magic law. Namely, he was surrounded in an environment of dense magic usage with a large number of witches and wizards around him. If the Ministry of Magic could somehow locate him in all this magical miasma, he would be _very_ impressed.

His first attempt was extremely crude, and it didn't surprise him at all when it failed. Though that it failed almost immediately was certainly discouraging. His idea had been simple, he' started by basing his project off what he knew of wands. So, the first attempt (Model 1.1.1) was a simple wooden handle with a phoenix feather merged into it through a simple First Year transfiguration spell. The hilt burst into a fiery inferno and badly burned his hand once he started channeling a bit of magic into it. Once he'd gotten the fire under control and his hand healed, he started researching what must've gone wrong. Learning that while wood was generally a good conduit for magic, when said magic was trying to take the form of a laser, wood proved to be a bad conduit for what he was trying to achieve.

From then on, he started crafting his hilts from metal pipes and rods. And, of course, these had their own share of pitfalls such as the first three after that failing to do anything, the following financial costs of finding out why, then the financial problems of discreetly getting ahold of enough copper, silver, gold, and even platinum to make multiple hilts, the difficulty of figuring out how to get metal magically-conducive like its wooden counterpart, the dilemma of getting yet more books to figure out how to successfully integrate a magical core into metal. Most importantly, he came across the challenge that phoenix feathers were truthfully quite hard to get a hold of.

Which was when he'd needed to start in on the Model 2 series and having to utilize dragon heartstrings as the core instead. If not for the simple virtue that dragon heart strings could be bought in bulk or even in raw form if one was willing to actually buy a full heart, which considering that by this point Harry was half convinced that he could simply add his own name to the bookshop's storefront title, considering how much of their stock he'd ended up buying. But frugalness won over compatibility.

Thus, began the Model 2 series, which had been something of an angry problem child intent on burning down The Leaky Cauldron. Much like the Model 1s, the early Model 2s had a tendency toward conflagration. However, _unlike_ the phoenix feathers overwhelming their casings with simple heat, the heartstrings posed problems all of their own.

The damn things were just so fussy.

Each heart string woven into the saber, had to, _had to_ , absolutely _**had to**_ come from the same type of dragon. If for even one moment he thought about mixing in the heartstrings of a Norwegian Ridgeback into a weave of Chinese Fireball, then you were asking for the test saber to go up much like it's donor's name. Even then, you had to get the balance _just right_ even with heartstrings from the same dragon species or you'd face some new issues as well. Too many from any single dragon and the residual magic might gain a minor consciousness and rail and rage when it noticed the residual bits of 'other dragons' near it. However, if he diversified too much, then the power would fluctuate as the differences in the various dragons would play merry hell with power flow. Either option typically ended in explosions… That was if the device was feeling generous that is. If it wasn't, some of the more vicious effects included tongues and gouts of flames, outright explosions, and/or summoning up Ashwinders. The Model 2s had been just as unruly as the beasts that had donated their cores.

But Harry had figured out _so much_ from those experiments that he could easily forgive the unruly things. He even had the Model 2.7.9 still on his person. A device that was (on a good day) a breather of dragon fire and indiscriminate death towards whatever he pointed it at, or (on a bad day) might summon an unruly and angry snake made of living flames. Either way, Harry felt he'd come out ahead of whomever he felt the urge to point the device at. However, even with the success he'd found after getting the exact perfect weave of heart strings, Harry had needed to scrap the Model 2s as a dead end. Not a single one could be classified as anything less than a simple flamethrower. Deadly and powerful flamethrowers that might actually be able to spit fire endlessly, yes, but flamethrowers nonetheless.

Thus, had begun the start of his Model 3s and already the summer was marching towards its zenith.

On one hand, Harry was almost thrilled of the chance to go back to Hogwarts. There lay one of the biggest libraries in the country, and he wouldn't have to purchase a damn one of the texts himself. If there was any place that could help him solve these issues, then it would have to be there.

However, Hogwarts also came with certain restrictions. Restrictions like responsible adults and people who might be concerned if he stumbled out of a room covered in soot and smoke after a loud bang had emanated forth. People like that, while lovely to be around most of the time, would only get in the way of his dream, and may even question why he might want a laser sword in the first place. Such people might even try and stop him and get him ' _help'_ in the form of sleeping potions and calmness draughts to quietly disable him while they disassembled his lab. All in the name of keeping him safe and healthy. Which, to be fair, was sort of an issue, as the desk receptionist at St Mungo's was starting to recognize him on sight the same way Madam Pomfrey did. Considering he'd needed to regrow his hand and several fingers multiple times now, this was actually a point against continuing. But then, of course, there was Snape to consider. He who would only care as much as to note that Harry was interested in something before banning it out of simple spite.

And if Snape thought Harry shouldn't do something, then clearly it was a sign to press forwards and damn the consequences! Such was the conclusion Harry had reached after Model 3.1.5 had exploded and produced a rainbow-colored fog that had made him somehow taste the color purple, see pixies riding little unicorns floating through walls, and argue with himself in the mirror for several hours. An act further complicated by the mirror occasionally weighing in for either his ID or Super Ego, depending on which had been winning at the time.

Yet despite a rather in-depth look at his own psyche that he prayed the mirror would keep quiet about, Harry was left no closer to his goal than he'd been before. And as of now, Model 3.3.1 was in need of tweaking to see if he could get it working as he wanted it.

However, before he could begin his process of tweaking the runic inlays to modulate the size of the beam, and hopefully keep it from firing off into orbit, Harry's body reminded him that he'd not actually eaten in the past few hours... if not outright _days_ while he'd been working on this latest model.

Food, Harry realized, would probably be a good thing.

With that thought in mind, Harry made the few checks he'd come to learn were necessary if he didn't want a worried populace to call the Aurors about someone attacking a national hero. A few quick scourgifies to clean off any soot that might have been clinging to him from a past explosion and a check in the mirror to confirm that he actually still had eyebrows this morning, Harry found himself sitting in a corner of The Leaky Cauldron, awaiting his shepherd's pie and going through his note-tome.

It had once been a notebook, but the constant addition of pages had quickly necessitated a change in names. Within this tome were numerous pages dedicated to every single thing he'd learned from his project. Some pages were copied faithfully from various textbooks for quick reference, and these ranged from runic arrays to Arithmetic tables. Others were in a messy scratch decipherable only by Harry, Hermione, school teachers, and doctors around the world. These detailed his schematics, every design, every runic array and pathway, every strand of silver and copper, every ounce of gold and platinum used to create the casings, and every primary arithmetic equation to compensate for etheric flow from wand core to power emitter and then flash transmute raw magic into pure energy to create a single beam of pure light. Page after page, he'd filled with diagrams and writing. Every failure catalogued, and every breakthrough and new discovery highlighted.

It was there, as Harry sat down and began to fiddle with the outer casing of Model 3.3.1, preparing to tweak the runic arrays in such a fashion to restrict the primary oddic flow from the tertiary mana roots to narrow the etheric back-flow and maybe narrow the beam for Model 3.3.1, that a familiar voice tore him from his notes and tinkering.

"Harry? Is that you?" a familiar voice asked from behind Harry. And, sure enough, upon spinning around in his seat excitedly, Harry beamed up at his most favorite Defense professor. The haggard looking man returned his smile with one of surprised relief and confusion. As he hurried forward and swept the boy up into a hesitant hug, he asked, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you still be at home with your relatives? How've you been?"

Harry's smile faltered a little at the mention of the Dursleys, but he shoved them out of mind as he answered, ' _To bloody hell with the Dursley's. They're not here, so they can't ruin this!_ ' "I've been great!" Harry answered more honestly than he'd ever answered such a question about his summer than ever before, and quickly continued, "The Dursleys and I have an agreement. As long as the chores are done and so long as I get home before dark, they don't care where I am or what I do! So, I've been spending a lot of time here!"

"Really?" the man's voice was carefully neutral as he studied the nearly 14-year-old's face. "Not getting into trouble, I hope? Or spending all of your money on toys or fancy brooms, are you? That money is meant for your school supplies and textbooks. You do know that, right?"

"I know, I know!" Harry said with the casual annoyance and dismissal that all teenagers showed when faced with unwelcome facts. "But I'm not wasting it on toys." He couldn't help uttering moodily under his breath, " _Though with the number of bloody books I've bought some of it very well might_ _ **be**_ _a waste_." But then he quickly returned to his normal voice and expression as he continued, "I'm smarter than that! I've been working on a little project, and I've needed a lot of books and stuff for research to make it work!"

"Oh?" Remus said, looking genuinely interested. "What kind of project, Harry?"

At this point, Harry felt the need to look cross-eyed at his former teacher. As wonderful a man as he was, what with being a link to his parents and a competent teacher to boot, Remus Lupin was still one of the 'responsible adults' that might try and steer him away from his dream. If not because he thought it was dangerous like so many others, but because it would be dangerous to _Harry_ personally. Merlin and The Force help him if he learned about Harry's trips to St. Mungo's earlier this summer!

He was the exact sort of responsible adult that Harry should have been left with, _furry problem_ notwithstanding. And because of that, he was the exact sort that should be kept far away from his research, lest he act responsibly and confiscate the dangerous weapons project from the thirteen-year-old. That he was almost fourteen likely wouldn't help him as it was still a weapons project and he was still underage, no matter how much closer to seventeen that extra digit made him.

However, as he continued to eye Lupin up, as if considering the best way to dispose of the body and have no questions asked, the older man began to laugh uproariously. Drawing a few looks from the crowd that soon morphed into looks of understanding and even a few fond smiles.

As Harry's look turned from contemplative to confused, the bedraggled older man held his hands in front of him in helpless defense as he tried to explain through giggles, "Oh Merlin, Harry...H _ehehe_ … It's just _that_ look from _her_ eyes on _his_ face… Hahaha… Oh Merlin, you have no idea how good it is to see both James and Lily alive in you, Harry." Remus explained with a laugh as he looked Harry up and down once more, this time in consideration rather than in parental worry. Even as Harry cocked an eyebrow in confusion at the very loose definition of an explanation his former professor had given.

"Right," the werewolf coughed in hound-ish fashion, that only now with the knowledge Harry had about the man's affliction did he realize why it had always reminded him of the way he'd seen Marge's dogs cough. "It's just your mother once gave me that same look when I ran into her right around the same age you are now. In almost exactly the exact same circumstances too. Let me guess, you were going to drop me in the Thames?" Remus smiled knowingly.

"…" Harry mumbled an answer, even as he turned red for being caught.

"…'Feed me to Marge's dogs'? Who is Marge?" the man asked with a laugh, having easily heard and understood what the boy mumbled. As this was happening, Harry's meal was levitated over to the table. Along with a lamb stew and pint glass of something brown and hoppy, which placed themselves in front of his former school teacher.

"…My parents ever tell you that that's not fair?" Harry glared as the man looked upon him smugly, even as he began to dig into the wonderfully cooked meal in front of him. Not quite up to Hogwarts or Mrs. Weasley's standards, or even his own to be honest. But there was a pleasant warmth that came from knowing that he didn't have to cook the meal himself which made it taste all the better. It almost made up for the smugly grinning wolf that sat before him preening in his hate.

"James said it all the time, Lily I rarely gave need to mutter angrily about me because… she… _she_ tended to back up her dark mutterings." Remus replied happily at first, before looking at Harry's sullen look and quickly comparing it to the time he'd found himself as a fully functional female for a month after he'd tried to give sympathy to Lily whilst she was in the midst of one of her spells. She had not taken his fifteen-year-old self's words of comfort too well. Harry's eyes looked frighteningly closer to hers. And he was also here working on a project, much like she had been back then.

' _Best not to tempt fate too much more, lest he be too much more like his mother than his eyes suggest_ ,' Remus thought to himself quickly and tried to turn _both_ their attentions back onto something that was far less likely to end in his misery. After all, he hadn't brought Padfoot to see Lily's son and if he was going to suffer, then Sirius was going to suffer. Because there was nothing quite like seeing a Black run in terror from an enraged and vengeful Evans, no matter who the participants or what the circumstances.

"So, Harry, this project? It anything like your mom's?" Lupin asked quickly as he tried to look at the messy scratches and twisted diagrams that from the reversed angle. But even with his somewhat experienced eye for deciphering such writing, it seemed to form eldritch script and non-Euclidian shapes that almost hurt the brain to look at unless he crossed his eyes and looked at them sideways.

"Uh, probably not," Harry answered hesitantly, weariness still clear in his voice and expression as he watched the man stare at his tome. "I saw something on the telly and wanted to try and see if I could create an actual real-life version of it. Not having much luck with it just yet...What did my mum try and make?"

"She said she was trying to compare potion making and the ingredients with muggle...kemsty? ...To see how similar or different they were from one another. Trying to put a 'scientific perspective to a magical art' as she'd put it. The project consumed practically all of her attention during her Fourth Year summer, but I don't think she got very far with it. She came back to Hogwarts with a very...upset look about her."

"Using Chemistry for Potions?" Harry clarified, eyes wide at the thought. Then, a slow smile started spreading across his face at the realization that his own project was actually quite a bit closer to what his mum had tried to do than he'd first thought. "Yeah, I can see how that would've gotten her interested."

"So, this project?" Remus asked lightly, smiling a disarming grin that he hadn't used much since he'd graduated. "I take it that it's a bit closer to her project than not? Must be a real challenge if you're still trying to crack this nut open."

"Heh," Harry couldn't help grunting in good humor, Remus's friendly expression and demeanor quickly wearing away his reluctance. "In more ways than one." He continued even as he turned the book around so that his former-teacher could look over his notes, with the vague hope that the former part would keep him from commenting on Harry's spelling. Never mind the long losing battle about his scripts' neatness.

As Remus began to page through Harry's notes, following the insane and myriad disorder that was Harry's mid-page reference guide to theorems and diagrams about why his spell work and rune weaving should work. Harry himself began to tuck into his meal, after he'd quietly switched the contents of Remus' beer with a passing witch's Ginger Ale while he became engrossed with the notes. No words were exchanged for several minutes as they both went about their tasks, though Harry wasn't sure if the engrossed silence that further delayed Remus from his revenge was a good thing or not.

Finally, the older man looked up and asked him a question, just as Harry suspected he would. "Blimey, Harry, _why_ didn't you take Runes and Arithmancy as your electives?"

"Hey, it wasn't really _my_ fault!" Harry answered, his voice sounding a bit whiny and cracking slightly. "Ron said that Divination would've been easy. And I really like Care for Magical Creatures!"

When he heard that, Remus rolled his eyes slightly as an annoyed sigh left him. "It figures," he uttered in helpless tone of voice. "You get your brilliance and talent from your mother, but your work ethic from your father."

"What?" Harry asked, eyes wide as a slightly frantic, hungry expression crossed his face. "My dad was...lazy in his studies? Really?"

"For the most part," Remus acknowledged, turning a wan smile on the boy. "Oh, he had his few talents where he shined, like Quidditch and Transfiguration... but he more used the latter to shine in pranking more than anything else." Remus laughed lightly, "Though he did start getting his act together about midway through our Fifth Year, when he REALLY started trying to impress Lily." Gesturing back to Harry's tome, he said, "But back to this, would you like some help or advice on it? I'd be happy to help when and if I could because, unlike you, I actually _did_ take those classes. And as a graduate, I likely know a little bit more than you do at this point." He finished boastfully as he gestured to a page. "Like here, why are you using lightning wards in these things Harry?"

The page was of a sketch from the model 2 series when he'd tried to experiment with using an alternative to linking the things to himself by covering the things in his blood for hours at a time. The Model was Harry's first and only attempt at making the lightsaber battery-powered…and the third time he'd blown off his left hand…and the first time he'd met an Ashwinder.

It was a skirt of the laws on muggle artifacts, and with the help of a modified ward schemer he'd found that converted lightning into magical energy to give the larger ward scheme and enchantments protecting the house. It would usually need to be woven into the primary rune scheme in concert with the runes used to project the wards. But in Harry's case, he'd only really needed to modify it a little to account for not needing any other runes on the copper wires he linked betwixt battery and emitter. Of course, that had resulted in fire, pain, and the sudden existence of a snake made out of said fire that had gone on to attempt to burn down The Leaky Cauldron as it tried to eat his owl.

Hedwig won, quite _decisively_ actually.

The design and idea had been scrapped once Harry had figured out that the energy conversion effect of the runes was _too_ efficient, converting all of the battery's energy at once in a blast much like his Model 1s. However, the rune scheme lived on in his later models, though in this case working in a reverse fashion to help convert his magic into a laser.

"Because electricity is nifty, and I needed it to generate the laser," Harry replied flippantly between bites of his pie, feeling moderately defensive of his designs even if they were explosive failures.

"Elect—what, Harry?" Remus replied in confusion.

His bafflement actually surprised Harry enough to cause the teen to pause in his eating and look at the man inquisitively.

"This may surprise you, Harry," Remus said in a low, but still rather contrite voice as he saw the boy's disbelieving stare. "But nearly all wizards stay as far away from muggles as they can and they have absolutely no interest in learning about anything about them. Just because I may know how to live and hide among them doesn't mean I automatically know how certain things truly work within the muggle world." Seeing Harry's continued gawk, Remus just sighed as he leaned back in the chair heavily. "I get the feeling this is going to be a long conversation before we even get to what you're playing with here… Okay, please explain to me, in little words mind you, about 'elec— _trici_ —ty', what it does, and why it's important."

"Well, er, it's the stuff that makes everything work. Without it, London, no, the entire world as we know it wouldn't have become what it is. Practically everything runs off the stuff in some way or another." Harry stumbled, slowly realizing that while he might know that electricity made things work, he didn't know much more than that.

It was with a shock that he realized that his scientific knowledge, and the entire process he'd been trying to base his own project on ended very abruptly at age ten and had never really progressed past that point. At most, he knew that if he took a pair of wires and attached them to the positive and negative ends of a battery, and then if the other ends of the wire was attached to a lightbulb, you would get light. But the exact why's and how's of the process were as limited as his knowledge of wandcraft had been at the very start of the project.

"That is very interesting, Harry, but what _precisely_ does that have to do with the lightning wards?" Remus asked, his voice pulling Harry away from his sudden revelation. Momentarily halting the realization that he would need yet more books, as Harry tried once more to process the sudden display of ignorance from the normally astute older man. But with the realization that Remus hadn't even known what electricity was in the first place, his further ignorance could be explained.

"Because, Moony," Harry replied puckishly, happy to have at least some control of the situation back. "Lightning _is_ electricity. Naturally occurring, and rather powerful too. Sorta why lightning wards are standard issue if your intent for any of your construction projects to be long-term when it comes to wards."

"I knew that about the wards, Prongslet, but – " Remus snapped back grumpily.

"Don't call me that," Harry reflexively replied to the nickname, interrupting the older man before the former school teacher could build up into a true lecture.

"Become an illegal animagi before your seventeen and show me your form so you can earn your own nickname and then we'll talk. Till then, you're Prongslet…or pup, depending on the mood of the Marauder," smiled the former prankster, using the flawless and insufferable logic of annoying uncles everywhere as a reason to justify treating someone as a child, before continuing with his lecture unimpeded. "I knew lightning was powerful. Hogwarts hasn't had to have the wards personally recharged in ages because of their own wards drawing power out of any stray lightning strike to any of its towers. Merlin, Azkaban's wards actually _attract_ lighting from all nearby storms for leagues around it. But you're saying the muggles have harnessed lightning to power everything out there?" Remus asked gesturing towards the exit from the Cauldron out into London proper.

"Not… quite?" Harry half asked as he struggled to remember his history and science. "A while back over, the pond in America, there was a muggle man who figured out that lighting was electricity and since he'd already been playing with it, he came up with a something to mitigate the damage of lightning-strikes. That then laid the foundation for everything else muggles eventually figured out about electricity. But, I don't _think_ they harvest power from storms like wizards do." Harry frowned as he tried to remember the American's name. It had been someone from the colonial rebellions, someone who was also really important to the founding of the eventual country the colonies had evolved into. Thomas Lincoln? George Jefferson? Benjamin Bush, or had he been a recent president?

' _How much have I actually missed in the past three years?_ ' Harry actually wondered.

"So how do Muggles use Elect-trix-ity then?" Remus asked with a frown, glancing down at Harry's book, towards the sketches of Model 2.4.9. and as Harry joined him in looking at the page he started to wonder if the reason the design had failed might have had something to do not only with his limited understanding of the runes and wandlore, but of muggle science as well?

"You know, I'm not sure, but I think I'm gonna try and find out," Harry declared with a smile as a thought occurred to him. ' _Star Wars and lightsabers are a **muggle** creation, after all. Maybe magic alone isn't going to work. But…maybe the muggles will have a better idea to how this could work? It certainly can't hurt to look… And if what I remember about muggle libraries holds true, hopefully it'll also be cheap._'

* * *

 **July 9, 1994  
Diagon Alley**

"How interesting," Harry mumbled as he shuffled his reading between the various articles and science books he had clustered around him on the table. Around him were several science books he'd borrowed from a nearby muggle library that focused their subjects on lasers, electricity, plasma, and scientific theory. But he also had numerous newsletters and journals written by both amateurs and professionals on several theories behind how a lightsaber would be able to work based off the science they knew.

What he was finding was that it was less of a 'laser sword' and more of a condensed plasma blade, contained by powerful magnetic frequencies. Which was why it could also block the blaster bolts since the magnetic fields from both would send any incoming beams bouncing off the sabers own. The Jedi were just precognitive badass enough to turn it into a deadly combat style. Or at least that was a working theory in many of the theoretical journals some of Star Wars more scientifically-minded fans had come up with.

Harry had been profoundly surprised at the difference between lasers and plasma, and how it translated to his project. A laser, which he could produce with some level of fluctuation, was simply a condensed type of light, and would react accordingly. Plasma though, Harry had come to learn that plasma was something called the 'fourth state of matter' and he still wasn't quite sure what that meant. So, to ease potential future headaches on the matter, he just decided that he'd call plasma 'liquid fire'. As he continued to dig deeper into the realms of science, Harry discovered that the creation of plasma was nigh-impossible for muggles because it required a **_very_ **high degree of power and heat. And until they could somehow synthesize a metal that was strong enough to not melt at such high temperatures, as well as how to focus and contain the plasma in a blade form, the likelihood of building a lightsaber solely from science and technology was as unlikely as he was finding it to be from magic.

"But if I add in heat-resistant runes to the interior, or even just use bits of dragon bone to compensate for the raw heat." Harry said, his new floating quill once again capturing his words. "That means that the hilt won't melt or explode in my hand... However, that still leaves the problem of power. How could I, or Merlin _anyone_ really, power such a thing? I've been using my own magic to power nearly all of my models before now. But if the text is right, which I think it is, then the amount of power needed to generate so much heat and energy to even create the plasma would be nothing short of overwhelming. To say nothing of the magnets needed to contain the ruddy stuff. Merlin, I doubt even _Dumbledore_ could do such a thing!"

As he was turning his thoughts over, trying to merge what he knew of magic with technology, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Maybe what I need to do is find or make a runic sequence that could contain and recycle the flow of energy once powered? A self-perpetuating sequence to focus and control energy. Could I even do that?" He let out a heavy sigh. "I wish I'd joined Ancient Runes class instead of Divination."

Looking over at his book, Harry took his wand and started transferring pages from the various texts and articles into the book through copying everything with magic, even if they didn't entirely pertain to the subject he was interested in. He could always go back and refine it later. Despite how much of his experiments and thoughts had already been recorded, as well as the new inserts, less than half of the large volume had even been used. Plenty of space for him to add in a few chapters on how to create, inscribe, channel, and use runes in various forms. "I suppose I have some more book shopping to do before I go back to Privet Drive."

* * *

 **August 25, 1994  
Stoatshead Hill**

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big… Come on…"

They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air. "Over here, Arthur! Over here, son we've got it!" Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," Mr. Weasley said, looking back over at his group. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen, the Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Looking around at them, the boy said simply, "Hi."

Everybody said 'hi' back, except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

Seeing that everyone was gathered, Harry discreetly turned away from the group and pulled out a small pamphlet-sized booklet which he started reading from. The pamphlet was actually his research tome for his lightsaber, which he'd asked Mr. Weasley to shrink down to a more manageable size once he'd arrived at the Burrow. Swiping back to a very specific page, he started rereading what the science article on plasma once again. This little distraction of his had become a rather common occurrence, even while he was with the Weasleys, so none of them spoke up on it if they even noticed. He'd pull it out when he was either bored or there was nothing interesting happening and would quickly get lost back in his research.

"—it was an accident," Cedric's voice cut through his thoughts. "Sorry, Harry, I—what are you reading?"

Looking up, Harry flinched back in surprise at how close Cedric had gotten so quickly. He reflexively closed and pulled his tome away, trying to hide it from sight. But, seeing Cedric's questioning and somewhat amused gaze, he let out a slight sigh before he held it up slightly. "Just a little…summer project of mine."

"Must be some project," Cedric remarked, his brow quirking slightly in surprise and good humor. "You completely missed out on some Quidditch talk, and I know you love Quidditch."

"You were apologizing," Harry pointed out as he stuffed his tome back into his pocket. With a slight grin, he continued, "Maybe it was _good thing_ I missed it."

Cedric blinked before an answering grin spread across his face. "Yeah, you're right. Maybe it was a good thing."

"Harry, Cedric!" Mr. Weasley called, urgency clear in his voice. "Time's almost up! Get over here!" As the boys approached, Harry couldn't help looking questioningly at the strange scene of a large group of people gathered around and clutching a manky old boot in the growing dusk. Seeing his slight confusion, Arthur hurriedly said, "Just touch it! Quickly!"

Harry had just barely finished putting a finger on the boot when he felt as though a hook just behind his navel had suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground and he joined the group as they vanished in a blur of motion, spinning at blinding speeds towards the hidden World Cup arena.

* * *

 **August 27, 1994  
Azkaban, North Sea**

It was amazing how quickly the thunderous roar of crashing waves against the beach and tower could become so monotonous. The walls were always cold and damp, with the barred cell doors letting in even the smallest breeze, all of which were as frigid as the icy water surrounding the island. The sky was always overcast in shades varying from black to deep gray, never any brighter. The air was icy cold thanks to the proximity of the Arctic Circle, but that wasn't the only reason. The sensation of hopelessness and depression hung heavy in the air, increasing the coldness by several degrees. Floating and drifting through cold winds like smoke and leaves were creatures so foul that even the darkest of wizards were hesitant to approach.

' _I swore I'd never come back here_ ,' the hidden wizard thought as he pulled his black cloak tighter around his body. ' _But there's no choice now. I need my Lord's most faithful servants_.'

The man had arrived early in the evening the previous day and had spent the late-night hours scouting the prison and island. He had been searching for weaknesses in the prison's layout, hiding places in the island's craggy landscape, watching the patrols of the Dementors and Aurors, and contemplating how to go about his mission with his vast array of spells. After a long while, he finally settled on what was perhaps the easiest route to achieve his goal.

Rising from his hiding place, the wizard pulled a new cloak made of what seemed like shimmering silvery water over his shoulders. As the new cloak settled upon him, the wizard vanished from sight, protected under the cloak's invisibility. Once sure he was safely hidden, he moved forward towards the prison. However, he was careful to avoid approaching the only entrance from the front, instead walking up to it from the side. It was overly simplistic, but very effective. Azkaban never had any visitors or explorers or tourists, being an island prison dominated by Dementors. The only people who arrived were convicts being escorted by Aurors, or prisoners being released and escorted by Aurors. And they always used the only path on the entire island that led from the entrance to the small shack by the shore that served as the specially warded Portkey waystation. And those visits were infrequent at best. Thus, there was no guards watching over the entrance, the path, or even the island itself.

' _Better to error on the side of caution_ ,' the wizard mused to himself as he reached the entrance unopposed.

Casting a subtle revealing charm, he saw that there was only one guard within the gatehouse. Holding back a sneer at the man, the wizard slipped forward and inside the gatehouse. Leveling his wand on the man, the wizard easily dredged up all of his hate and anger, directing it into his wand to help him focus his desire of dominating the sleeping man as he quietly uttered, " _Imperio!_ "

Yet just as he uttered the phrase, for all that surprise was on his side, for the environment masking his approach, it was also his undoing. As he carried forth the motion to fire his spell, the ground and rocks he stood upon suddenly shifted. This unexpected shift threw off his balance, causing his arms to reflexively flail about upwards as he fought to regain his footing. As a result, his curse shot high above its mark, immediately attracting the guard's attention. Though probably not realizing just what spell he'd been spared from, he instantly realized he was under attack and reacted admirably, whipping out his own wand and lunging to the side, dodging the invisible wizard's follow-up curse.

"Who's there?!" the guard demanded, glaring around in the general area that he'd seen the spells coming from. "Show yourself!"

" _Depulso!_ " the curse shot an invisible wave towards the guard in an attempt to knock him off his feet. However, now that he was actively paying attention, the guard had heard the curse's incantation and raised a shield charm in defense. While the guard was busy absorbing the attack on his shield, the attacking wizard was already moving, sliding as stealthy to the side as he could manage. This proved quite a good thing for him as the guard had immediately launched a large fireball in the area where the attacker had been moments before.

Crouching low to the ground to help evade the fringes of the sweltering heat, the wizard saw his chance as the guard's defense dropped ever-so-slightly as he watched the fireball, clearly anticipating seeing some kind of reaction or revelation as to who his attacker was.

" _Imperio!_ " Instead, he was wholly unprepared for a new curse to come flying at him from a slightly different angle. There was a long moment of silence and stillness as the curse took effect. But once that moment passed, the guard turned to look at the wizard in an almost questioning manner.

"Find all the other human guards and cast the Imperio on them. Have them to help you. Return here with them once you're done," the wizard ordered. It was a sign of the Imperius Curse having taken total control when the man turned and marched off to fulfill his assignment without even batting an eye to the orders given.

But the wizard paid no further mind to his new slave as he departed. Instead, he turned and walked out of the gatehouse and down the path. After about twenty paces in front of the prison, he stopped, throwing off his Invisibility Cloak, and looked up into the sky, watching the circling specters in the air and waiting for one of them to approach. Sure enough, he spotted one of wispy silhouettes peeling itself away from the group and come floating down towards him.

As the creature drew up level with him, in a voice that was faint, delicate like smoke, and yet steeped in so much despair that it caused a reflexive shiver to run down the wizard's back, it spoke, " **Whhhooooo aaaaarrrreeee yyyyoooouuuu? Whhhhaaaatttttt dooooooo yoooooouuuuuu waaaaannnntttt, daaarrrrk ooooonnnnnneeeee?** "

"Voldemort is gone," the wizard said simply, his voice coming out with a slight muffled, reverberating tone due to the iron mask he wore. He spoke bluntly, knowing that these creatures were all listening through the ears of this one. He kept himself under perfect control, refusing to shiver as the Dementor's despairing aura nestled down over his shoulders. This was a moment of absolute necessity where he needed to show strength. "But I intend to revive his work. To do that, I want his true followers at my side."

" **Whhhyyyyy sshhhoooouullldddd weeeee allllloooooowwww thhhhaaatttt?** "

"Because I'm offering you a chance to…expand your menu," the masked wizard stated. "Let me have those wizards and witches and, once I control the Ministry, you will be allowed to feed on as many muggles and mudbloods as you desire."

" **Weeeeee haaaavvveeee annnn aggggreeeeemmeeennttt wiiitthhh ttthhhhheeeeeeee Miiiiiiinnnniiissstryyyyyy** ," the Dementor countered, its aura of despair growing stronger with each passing word, pressing down on the man almost like a physical weight on his shoulders. " **Whhyyyyy sshhhhoooouuuulllllldddddd weeeeee thhhrrrreeeatteeeennn ttthhhhhhaaaaat fffooooorrrrrr oooonnnnneeeeeee mmmaaaaannnnnnnn?** "

"Because," the man said slowly, fighting valiantly to remain upright as his knees started shaking involuntarily. "I am offering you…your freedom from this place… I just need a…few of the prisoners…to get my plans started."

There was a long pause as the Dementor contemplated this. Would it be worth it to risk bringing the ire of the Ministry down on them? This wizard was offering a very similar deal to them as what the previous Dark Lord had. And while this man clearly didn't have the same raw power and strength of will, as demonstrated by him not being able to fully handle the depression aura, he clearly had the conviction. What he was offering was what the horde had been desiring for centuries. So much so that… _ **yes**_. Yes, they were that desperate to get out and away from this island. They wanted the opportunity to feast on souls and happiness as they once had a millennium ago, before those accursed four rose to power.

" **Vverrrrryyyyy weeellllll** ," the Dementor said after a long moment. " **Spppeeeaaakkkk. Weeee shhaaaalllll llliiiisstttteeeeennnn**."

* * *

 **September 1, 1994  
Hogwarts Express, northbound**

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared. Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

" _Ron!_ " Hermione barked reproachfully. She pulled out her wand and muttered, "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well…making it look like he knows everything, and we don't…" Ron snarled. " _'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry_.' …Dad could've got a promotion any time…he just likes it where he is…"

"Of course he does," Hermione agreed quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron—!"

" _Him!_ Get to _me?! As if!_ " Ron said, picking up one of the Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

As Ron turned to glare moodily out the window, staring off into the gathering darkness, Harry could clearly see that any further conversation was going to be strained and awkward. Sighing slightly, he stood up and dug into his trunk, pulling out a familiar tome. The sight of Harry pulling out a book wasn't an uncommon sight, but the fact that the tome was absolutely _massive_ in size and weight, that was something worth drawing his two friends' attentions.

"Blimey, Harry, what's that?" Ron asked, some of his bad mood clearing up in his slight confusion. Since he was seated next to Harry, he was able to look over his shoulder and easily see what was on the pages. Most of it was covered in scribbled text he recognized as Harry's handwriting, along with drawn sketches and inserted pictures from other books, as well as what were clearly copied pages of other textbooks and pamphlets pasted in the tome. While he could see it, he couldn't make sense of any of it from just the passing gaze he was giving it.

"Oh, ah, just some notes for a summer project I've been working on at the Dursleys," Harry admitted, looking up and flushing slightly at seeing his friends' interests.

"' _Just some notes'_?!" Ron repeated, gawking with a horrified expression on his face. "That looks like something _Hermione_ would read in her spare time!"

"Ron!" Hermione said, her voice split between a reproachful bark and an embarrassed whine. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Harry and asked, "What kind of project was it, Harry? Did you finish it?"

Harry sent Hermione a slightly crooked grin since he knew she'd probably understand what he was about to reveal, unlike Ron. "I was watching a muggle film and got inspired to try and build my own version of a weapon that was shown in the movie. I want to build my own lightsaber!"

"Wha—lightsaber? Are you serious?!" Hermione asked, her eyes widening slightly before she rolled them in exasperation. "Argh, a lightsaber? Really, Harry? I mean, _really?!_ You do know that's _impossible_ , right? With either magic _or_ technology!"

"Really, Hermione, so lightning storms don't happen over Hogwarts?" Harry drawled with a smirk.

"Of course they do, Harry, but what— _ **!?**_ " Hermione stopped talking, just as Harry suspected she would, as her brain made a very crucial connection that all other muggleborns had missed. If magic messed with electricity, how then did lightning still behave normally near such a high concentration?

"A light…saber?" Ron repeated slowly, testing out the strange word with a contemplative look on his face. "What's a light-saber?"

"A fictional weapon in a film saga called 'Star Wars' that is very popular among the muggles," Hermione answered automatically, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. "It's basically a magic sword that can cut through anything and is used by exclusively by a group of warrior-wizards who fight to protect goodness and light."

"Not a bad comparison, Hermione," Harry said, nodding his head agreeably. "I take it you've seen the saga?"

"Yes, I have, _once_ ," she admitted. Then, muttering almost too quietly for either boy to hear, she said, " _Star Trek is way better, though_." Despite herself, Hermione flushed somewhat at seeing Harry's slightly disappointed and disgusted look as he gazed at her pointedly with a raised brow.

"Star what?" Ron asked, glancing between the two of them in confusion.

"Anyway, can I see what you've already got?" Hermione asked, gesturing inquiringly towards Harry's tome. Harry nodded and handed it over to her.

Taking the tome, Hermione opened it at the first page and rapidly started reading over. Soon, she was skimming over Harry's notes and theories, studying his diagrams and experiments. After several minutes, Harry slid over to sit next to her, so he could help share and explain certain thoughts. Hermione had an increasingly widening look of surprise and burgeoning respect as the two of them continued.

But as she reached the second half of his tome, where he had started gathering information on relevant muggle technologies along with his theories and notes of how magic might be able to aid in the construction, her expression changed to one of utter fascination. She had never even considered the possibility that perhaps the long-held belief of technology and magic working in tandem was an impossibility was in fact completely mistaken due to wizards' long ignorance of technology. The fact that some of Harry's first experiments with joining the two opposites showed promising results was truly mind-blowing and revolutionary for her.

Needless to say, she and Harry were locked in an intense discussion on these new ideas for the remainder of the train ride.

Meanwhile, Ron had seen the direction that the two of them were heading and had quickly lost interest. He soon turned and started glaring out the window again, quickly going back to sulking and simmering over Malfoy and being left in the dark of what was happening at Hogwarts by everyone. Heck, now even his best friends were excluding him from the discussion! The fact that they (and he) knew that he wouldn't likely understand anything of what they were talking about was pushed to the side in his mind as he continued to brood angrily at everyone.

* * *

( **Tellemicus's Note** ) Not much more to say on this chapter. Just that it's already shaping up to be very, _**very**_ different from _The Lightsaber_.

 **Fiori75 AN** : So here I am, **Tellemicus** has finally done it, he's managed to convince me that writing a fanfic for Star Wars is a good idea, even if it is a very round about cross over. May the Force be with us, because god damn it STAR TREK IS TOTALLY THE BETTER SERIES!


	2. Chamber of Secrets

**.**

 **Resurgence of Sorcery  
** By: Tellemicus Sundance  
Co-Authored by: Fiori75  
 _#02 – Chamber of Secrets_

 **Library, Hogwarts  
Saturday, September 10, 1994**

It was odd, Harry thought, being happy that there was no Quidditch this year. In fact, the thought was nearly heretical, and had his old captain still been in residence, Harry was sure he'd have suddenly appeared to set him straight for the mere _thought_. Yet here he sat in the Library, note-tome open before him as numerous other books were open around him in an eclectic arrangement on a day he'd usually be out in the stadium practicing with his team. Hermione, likewise, sat across from him, her own fort of books surrounding her as she poured over facts. She had gotten rather odd about the notion that all of her books on magical and technological interactions might have been wrong.

"Here, Harry, here it says that Hogwarts is unplottable by radar. That means they _had_ to have set up a machine and tested it." Hermione nodded, as she forced a copy of Hogwarts: A History into his hands, a manic gleam in her eyes.

"And this proves…?" Harry asked as he looked up from his designs for Model 3.7.1. The last several models having reacted oddly to the additions of electrical current… At least the mirror that had recorded his psyche had 'mysteriously' died. But with Hermione insisting on proving her point, Harry was starting to see that he wasn't likely to get the work done until he could shift her focus.

"…Well, that they got it here and it didn't work?" Hermione asked as if realizing somehow that, no, it neither proved nor disproved Harry's recent assertions.

That magic was not some anti-technological force that corrupted electronics. That wizards quite simply did not know what electricity was and having failed to operate several electrical devices without power sources had concluded that it was magic keeping them from working rather than their own lack of understanding. Since then, Hermione had been trying to prove him wrong. If only for the sake of her precious books, she couldn't take them lying to her a second time. Lockhart's horrifying revelation had been scandalous in the extreme!

"Hermione," Harry said with a heavy sigh, trying to rein in his mounting irritation with her as he glanced up at her. Either he hadn't done all that good of a job or Hermione knew him too well and could see through his mask. Regardless, he saw her flush slightly in embarrassment and he knew that she knew she was about to be gently scolded by him. "How exactly would they have done that?" He asked finally.

"Well…"

"Hermione, you and I both know there aren't any power lines for leagues. So, of course the thing couldn't get any readings. It's been 10 days already. I think it's time you face the facts: wizards have no concept of how technology works. All because they never realized one little thing," he finished as he brought the crux of the issue home.

"Harry, it can't be that." Hermione scowled as the topic moved back towards something she _really_ didn't want to accept.

"Then what else could it be?" Harry asked back, honestly not seeing another alternative.

" _I don't know!_ " Hermione shouted, drawing even the shocked eye of Madam Pince! "It's…a misunderstanding, a conspiracy, a-a-a-anything but _that_ , Harry!" She blushed as she realized _where_ she was and just what it was she was shouting.

"Really, Hermione? There's a plot to keep the magical world ignorant of technology and the advancements of science to…what? Keep them ignorant enough of modern day conveniences so they don't tear up old buildings to install air conditioners?" Harry asked with a completely straight face, fingers steepled together before him and hiding the lower half of his face…mostly so Hermione wouldn't see his stupid grin.

"That's dumb and you know it, Harry," she huffed as she looked back to her book.

"And suggesting conspiracy isn't? Hermione, you of all people should know not to assume malice where stupidity could explain everything," Harry replied as he lowered his arms, letting her take in his wide and amused face.

"Hanlan's Razor? From you, Mr. Snape-is-up-to-something?" Hermione replied bitingly.

"Hey, I was eleven, and I _was_ right that something was up, just picked the wrong teacher," Harry replied with a shrug.

"Urgh, not the point," Hermione grumbled, finally giving up the fight and burying her face in her open tome in defeat.

"Sorry, Hermione, but facts are just facts. Wizards don't know what electricity is, and because they don't, their entire approach to muggle tech has been flawed," Harry said with a shrug.

"But how?! Arthur Weasley rebuilt his car from scratch. They have the Knight Bus and the wireless. Merlin, Harry, Draco _bloody_ Malfoy, ignorant pureblood and proud of it, knows what a helicopter is well enough to brag about outrunning one. So, how— _how_ can they possibly not know what electricity is?" she growled as she shifted in her spot, just enough so one eye was visible enough to glare at him through her hair.

"I don't know. How was Hogwarts constructed?" Harry replied with a grin, knowing she'd rise to the bait.

"With magic, Harry," She replied, her one visible eye somehow silently articulating the additional question about his lack of intellect.

"Exactly, Hermione," He smirked, causing his friend to raise her face from the table, just enough to better convey her look of resigned confusion.

"…You've lost me, Harry."

"Magic built this place, sure. But what spells, how many days, which rooms were first, how was that tower added?" he said as he pointed towards her impromptu pillow. "Hogwarts: A History probably has some of those answers, but I don't need to read it to tell you that this castle was made by magic." He explained.

"…And this has what to do with Malfoy and his helicopter?" she asked in confusion.

"He doesn't need to know how it works to know what it is. Just like I don't need to know what spells were used to know magic did it." Harry shrugged.

"That sort of logic literally hurts to understand, Harry. I hope you understand this," his friend conceded.

It would be truly remarkable how in a few short weeks, he'd be looking back on these annoying arguments with a deep yearning. Things were so much simpler. But, like all good things, it would come to an end _far_ too quickly for the young Potter boy.

* * *

 **Friday, November 4, 1994**

If Harry had thought matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day after the Goblet of Fire spat out his name showed him how mistaken he was. As it wasn't the weekend, he just couldn't avoid the rest of the school. He had to go to his lessons—and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought he had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they didn't seem impressed.

The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry had stolen their champion's glory. A feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, thanks in large part to Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, whom Harry had normally got on very well with, did not talk to him even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray. Though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grasp and smacked him hard in the face. Ron wasn't talking to Harry either. Hermione sat between them, making very forced conversation, but though both answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other. Harry thought even Professor Sprout seemed distant with him, but then she was Head of Hufflepuff House.

He could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, even if he didn't like it. They had their own champion to support. He expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins. He was highly unpopular there and always had been, because he had helped Gryffindor so often, both at Quidditch and the Inter-House Championship. But he had hoped that the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support him as much as Cedric. He was wrong, of course. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that he had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name.

Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than he did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days: Cedric or Viktor Krum. Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime!

But it was Double Potions that was the straw that finally broke the camel's back. On an average day, Potions was a horrible experience. But these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for living and breathing, let alone being a school champion. It was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through four days' worth of having Hermione sitting next to him intoning ' _ignore them, ignore them, ignore them_ ' under her breath and he couldn't see why this class should be any better.

When he and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment, Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges, then he saw they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

SUPPORT **CEDRIC DIGGORY**  
THE **REAL** HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

"Like them, Potter?" asked Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. "And this isn't all they do—look!"

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one which glowed green.

 _ **POTTER STINKS!**_

The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message _POTTER STINKS_ was shining brightly all-around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.

"Oh, _very_ funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone. "really _witty_."

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.

"Want one, Granger?" asked Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see. Don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

Some of the anger Harry had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. He had reached for his wand before he'd thought what he was doing. People around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now—do it, if you've got the guts—"

For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then at exactly the same time both acted.

" _Furnunculus!_ " " _Densaugeo!_ "

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles. Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hand to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up. Hermione whimpered in panic, clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!" Ron hurried forward to see what was wrong with her. Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth, already larger than average, were now growing at an alarming rate. She was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin. Panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

"And what is all this noise about?" asked a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations, but Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir—"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.

"—and he hit Goyle—Look!"

Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron snapped. " _Look!_ "

Ron forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth. She was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubling up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."

Hermione let out a whimper, her eyes filling with tears as she turned on her heel and ran. Ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time. Lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor. For in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.

"Let's see…" he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."

As the class of red and green colored students filed into the classroom, Harry didn't budge from his spot as he glared at the Professor's retreating back. Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces.

After spending the majority of the summer working in peace on his lightsaber project, researching magic he didn't yet comprehend, finding out the finer points of technology he hadn't already known, experimenting with and building his models by combining the two, and having a damn-good amount of fun doing so. After having experienced such a high in a workshop that was eerily similar to a potion's lab, to now have plummeted so far down into the gutter, losing both his friends' supports and with the strong likelihood of being targeted by both the Slytherins and Snape. He could almost _literally_ see it happening in his mind's eye. If he went into that class, _today and now_ … _ **bad things**_ were going to happen. It was just… He just… He couldn't… He wouldn't…

After only a moment of relative indecision as he watched the class funnel inside, Harry abruptly turned on his own heel and followed after Hermione, leaving the dungeon. As he departed, he could literally feel Snape's glaring but triumphant eyes following and boring into his back until after he'd vanished around the corner and up the stairs. He just knew that Snape was going to make him pay this, but at this moment in time, he just didn't care!

Harry's original intention was to follow after Hermione to the hospital wing to support her during her recovery, then escort her to Gryffindor common room where they could get an early start on their homework. However, he had barely taken three steps out of the stairwell when he realized that neither Hermione nor Pomfrey would want his presence there, especially during class hours. So, with no real destination in mind and hotly burning temper just under the surface, he started stalking the lower halls of the castle, looking for an adequate place to brood in peace.

His sulking wandering was halted as he reached a very familiar doorway. Normally, he'd have done his utmost to utterly ignore this particular doorway. There were so many bad memories connected to this stretch of hallway and what lie behind that doorway in particular. But, as he thought on what he knew of it, Harry realized that this doorway (or, more specifically, the one that lie hidden behind it) was exactly what he needed right now. For inside the Chamber of Secrets, he was guaranteed to have the privacy he sought so badly right now.

* * *

 **Earlier…**

The look on Snape's face as he closed the door behind him was that of unpleasant triumph, his eyes somehow seeming to glitter in delight. He practically strutted over to his desk, grabbing a bit of parchment and a quill as he reached it. "Well, it would appear that Mr. Potter has decided that he's exempt from attending class. That'll be 50 points from Gryffindor and a detention tonight for Potter's failure to attend." Predictably, this caused a rouse of anger from the Gryffindors and muted cheers from the Slytherins.

Once finished making a note of the deduction, Snape turned to face the class. "Antidotes. You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then we will be selecting someone on whom to test one—"

A knock on the dungeon door interrupted Snape before he could even finish his first lecture. With only a slight wave of his wand, the door burst open and there stood the familiar form of Colin Creevey. The Gryffindor was beaming happily, apparently not taking in the sullen and friction-laden atmosphere of the class as he entered and moved over to Snape's desk and the man behind it.

"Yes?" Snape asked curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs," Colin said, the source of his good nature now becoming clear to all. Everyone knew of Colin's strange obsession and hero-worship of the Potter boy after all.

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, who smile faded from his eager face.

"Potter is not presently here," the man stated bluntly. "And he will have an hour of class and detention to follow that. He will be free afterwards."

Colin went pink. "Sir—Sir, Mr. Bagman wants him. All the Champions have got to go. I think they want to take photographs…"

"As I'd stated, he's no longer here," Snape bit out sharply. But then he glanced contemplatively over the class. "He's no doubt followed after Granger like a lost puppy. Parkinson, so glad you could volunteer to go and retrieve the boy," the Slytherin head sneered, adding just one more insult to the ratty little mudblood.

Though Pansy did wish she had actually been given the choice to say no. Still, the chance to see Granger helpless would be at least somewhat worth it…that and missing class with Longbottom when he wasn't being watched by one of the golden trio. Draco could deal with the caustic effects of his _fun_ by himself today.

So, with only a marginal amount of haste, Pansy left the classroom, ascending from the potential hell of clumsy fools and trending onwards to the mixed pleasure of gloating over Granger whilst still technically running an errand. That it was an errand that technically helped _Potter_ of all people was just something she'd have to live with. Much as she had gotten used to the various odors that emanated from Draco's lackeys, her Head of House's inability to actually teach a dangerous subject, or her mother's constant urging to be better.

She'd just have to gloat at Granger's misfortune extra-hard to counter out her own, it was only fair. Nodding in affirmation to herself, Pansy was just about to continue on her journey when she spotted something that did not fit the picture she'd formed in her head. Harry Potter was wandering around on the first floor.

Potter wasn't heading up the stairs, much as she would have kept doing had she not seen him. He wasn't attending to his mudblood like some sort of lost puppy as he had every other time she got injured. Nor did he look like the sullen brooder Draco had always painted him as. He instead looked thoughtful as he started drifting about the first floor almost aimlessly. His right hand idly playing with some kind of silver tube he pulled from his pocket.

Strangest of all though was the sudden stop right outside of the haunted girl's lavatory.

Frowning in confusion and slight anger, Pansy hurried forward, wanting to trap the boy inside. This way she could probably get the wizarding idol to explain just why he suddenly felt the urge to seek out the company of an annoying ghost. Oh yes, she was _very_ interested in the boy's unexpected detour. But just as she reached and partially opened the doorway, she heard something that she hadn't heard for almost two years, a sharp, mysterious, but also rather threatening hissing noise that seemed to echo through the bathroom. House of the Serpent she might be in, but the entire wizarding world had been long taught to fear the voices of those who spoke the tongue of snakes.

Immediately following this terror-inducing noise, a brilliant white light flared to life, casting the entire room into stark hues of blinding whites and deep blacks. At the same time, a grinding sound of moving stone and a rattling and screeching of rusted metal gears filled the air. After only a moment of this noise and light, everything died down and Pansy could see inside once again. She stared in shocked surprise at seeing Potter striding towards a large, man-sized hole in the wall that had obviously just opened. Without a hint of hesitation, the boy stepped into the hole and dropped out of sight.

Opening the door and hurrying inside, Pansy rushed to the hole and stared down into the darkness underneath. Faintly, she could make out the noise of the boy sliding ever lower into the tunnel that was revealed. "What—What is all this, Potter?!"

Frowning, Pansy leaned back and looked towards the exit with an expression of hard contemplation. She was weighing her options of rushing back to the dungeons to inform her Head of House of these strange events, or instead acting like a Gryffindor to sate her mounting curiosity and jumping in blindly after him. After several more glances between the two choices she had, Pansy finally let out a heavy sigh of resignation. In another moment, down went Pansy after him. Never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. She glimpsed more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as the one she was in. It twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and she knew that she was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons were. And then, just as she had begun to worry about what happen when she hit the ground, the pipe leveled out. She shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.

Quickly climbing to her feet, Pansy could see the fading shine of a Lumos spell as Harry was already moving away. Drawing her wand but not igniting her own spell, Pansy quickly but carefully followed after him, trying to remain on the outermost edges of the light that Potter had made. After a few minutes of walking, they came to a stop because of a large cave-in that was blocking most of the tunnel ahead. _Most_ of it, because Pansy could see a small area near the top that was just large for a small kid to slip through.

Waving his wand in an almost annoyed manner with a mumbled spell, Pansy watched as Potter cast a large-scale _Reparo_ charm. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise as she watched enormous and tiny chunks of fallen rock alike rapidly ascend back up into the ceiling, large cracks closing, and the slight slag of the ceiling rising back up into a proper arch form.

' _I didn't think Potter had_ _ **this much**_ _power already!_ ' If you listened to Malfoy, and indeed most Slytherins' opinions, then Potter was little better than a Squib in terms of raw power, finesse, and potential. But Pansy had never fully ascribed to that belief. The boy was at best an average wizard, courtesy of his lazy work ethic and Weasley's influence, but that had been all she'd assumed he was. But now, she realized it was something else entirely. ' _Either Potter has been hiding the depths of his power or he's never been pushed to his limit before!_ '

Potter had started moving forward again during her contemplation and was nearly out of eyesight when she came back to herself. This turned out to be a good thing for Pansy since he was just far enough away to not hear or notice the crunching noises of the bones shards as she tried and failed to move daintily over them without making a sound. As she was doing this, Pansy glimpsed something in the receding light from ahead. It was huge but still rather crushed from the cave-in earlier, lying right across the tunnel. It took a few moments, but Pansy soon realized it was peeled snakeskin.

"Oh shit, that's a _big_ snake," she couldn't help uttering quietly in awe.

And it was just as that quiet statement was spoken that Pansy froze, her eyes widening in dawning suspicion. Was she…? Could Potter really have…? Was it possible that she was…in or near the _Chamber of Secrets?!_

Pansy had known that the Chamber was at the center of the events during her mutual Second Year with Potter, that something had happened there when the youngest Weasel had been taken, and it ended with Lockhart tragically gone mad. But the Chamber had supposedly closed itself off due to Harry's 'heroic efforts.' The working theory amongst the Slytherins was that the now-crazed former hero had used Potter's gift of Parseltongue to gain entry and had fought the Beast therein. The other option would be that Potter himself had somehow beaten the Beast…at age twelve.

When the running theory was that he was a talentless near-Squib? Nobody in Pansy's House had even considered it, not when someone with far more _actual_ experience was also present. Though, with his recent display, combined with the size of the small gap that had been present in the now fixed rubble? The implication was frightening to an extreme, because it quite frankly did not fit the picture she had formed of Potter in her head. That he was also apparently traipsing around in the sanctum of Slytherin, was a known Parselmouth, and had casually displayed raw power she'd have passed out trying to match? The implications were staggering and painted a slightly worrying picture.

Could he possibly also possess the blood of Slytherin?

* * *

 **Chamber of Secrets**

' _I guess I shouldn't be surprised that nothing's changed much since then_ ,' Harry thought as he gazed upon the chamber he'd entered a few moments earlier. He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Lit up by the _Lumos_ he still had active, Harry glanced around himself as he walked slowly down the center of the chamber. Even though it was less than two years ago, he could clearly remember what he felt last time he'd walked down this path. The fear of running into the basilisk, the worry for Ginny's wellbeing, the sense of exposure brought on the hollow eyes of the serpent statues. But soon enough, he'd passed by those and found something else to focus on, namely the rotting and rank corpse of the basilisk from where it still lay in front of the massive carved statue face of Salazar Slytherin. Harry was unsurprised to see that the entrance to which the basilisk came from was still wide open, since neither he nor Tom Riddle had bothered to try and close it. This caused what would've otherwise been a severe expression on the statue's face to seem like it was comically gawking as if horror or disbelief at having to witness its most dangerous weapon be killed and left to rot right in front of it.

Moving forward up to the edge of the flooded moat that separated the statue from the rest of the chamber, Harry couldn't help but begin to grow angry as he stared at the statue. He couldn't help but think of the legacy that this man had left. More than just Voldemort, the killer of his family, but a systemic and enduring hatred that allowed for so much more. Soon, he found himself glaring up at the face angrily. "This is all _your_ fault, you know. _All of it_ started with you. The prejudice, the Purebloods, the wars, Voldemort. All of this is _entirely_ _ **your fault**_."

There was so much more Harry wanted to say. He wanted to rave and cuss about the man for championing such a vile way of thinking. He wanted to curse and defame the actions this distinguished figure had promoted. But for all that he wanted to do, he held himself back. After all, what he really wanted was to do all those to the _real_ Salazar Slytherin, not some statue.

"You know you're supposed to have been something great?" Harry half mumbled to himself, and half to the statue as his gaze fell to the waters at his feet. "The four of you could have laid it all out perfectly, but no. You just had to hate. Wish you'd have met a little green man in a swamp to teach _you_ how not to be a wanker. Maybe then your House would be tolerable."

Harry might've hated the modern day Slytherins (or _most_ of them) passionately, but he also understood that they hadn't started out that way. He knew that once, long ago, they had been just another school house with wide-eyed and eager students wanting to learn the secrets and the mysteries behind the majesty and awe of magic. He knew that the darkness that enshrouds the House was only a comparatively recent development and that Slytherin himself wasn't _technically_ to blame for the way the wizarding world and his House had turned out. But even so, it was hard to separate his anger from all the misery and pain that the House of the Snakes had, are, and will put him through and to not want to blame the man who'd created the House in the first place.

In the corner of his eye, he could faintly see the glowing eyes of some more jeweled serpents carved into the walls of the chamber, seemingly watching him, judging him. The faint ripples that were floating through the waters made those same serpents somewhat appear like they were alive and dancing. It wasn't intentional on his part, but the sight of dancing snakes reflexively triggered Harry's Parseltongue as he spoke up next.

" _Magic is a wondrous thing_ ," Harry mumbled as he stared at the green-tinted waters at his feet. " _But I guess it can't solve everything wrong with the world_."

As if in reply, the eyes of those serpents flashed faintly for a split second before dying out again. It was so faint and sudden that Harry almost thought he'd imagined it. Before Harry to could turn away, a sudden golden glow emanated from the depths of the waters in front of him.

"What the?" Harry gasped in surprised as he took a step back slightly, eyes wide and his wand at the ready. But after a few moments, he stepped forward again and peered down into the watery depths, gazing down at the strange glow he could see underneath. "That looks like torchlight. Is there another cave down there?" He could faintly see what looked like a tunnel down at the bottom of the moat, some four meters below, which was clearly where the flickering lights were coming from. "What's going on down there?"

It was a second's time of deliberation before Harry promptly decided it was worth the effort and potential danger to go exploring. Pulling off his cloak and discarding his red Gryffindor shirt and slacks, with only his undershirt and boxers, he gripped his wand in one hand and his glasses in the other as he dove into the cold water without a moment's hesitation.

* * *

( **Tellemicus' Note** ) Just for the record, this isn't where I wanted to end the chapter. However, I felt that I'd neglected this story long enough and it would be better to post what I had rather than leave you guys hanging. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. **Fiori** and I worked pretty hard to try and keep things reasonably close to canon while also trying to show a more realistic setting for what drives Harry towards becoming what all know he will be.

As you can probably guess, I decided to completely skip over the whole Triwizard Tournament introduction, unveiling of the Goblet, arrivals of the other schools, and the **_big surprise_ **of Harry being forcefully chosen. I just didn't see the point of rehashing such old and well known material.

But I can't help but wonder how many of you were surprised by what's happened. Be honest, who saw Harry revisiting the Chamber of Secrets coming? Who can guess what it is that's caught Harry's attention? And what role does Pansy play in all this?


End file.
